


summer ballads

by missdulcerosea



Category: Arthurian Mythology, Arthurian Mythology & Related Fandoms
Genre: Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-02
Updated: 2020-06-02
Packaged: 2021-03-03 04:29:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 556
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24498718
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/missdulcerosea/pseuds/missdulcerosea
Summary: there's a poet (tristan), an angel (galahad), and the love they share for one another.
Relationships: Galahad/Tristan (Arthurian)
Kudos: 17





	summer ballads

once upon a time, there was a poet.

he writes words—bleeding, colorful words that sprout from the tip of his quill and spill all across the paper. he writes stories of love, a bittersweet thing you have to hold carefully in your hands lest its sharp edges cut you. love, thinks the poet, is an aching but necessary part of life. there are no soft edges, and what is beautiful in love is what hurts the most.

the poet is chastised for pulling his heart out of his ribcage and leaving it to bleed bare on the page by his father. you will be a knight one day, he is told, and you will have no time for such silly, flighty habits like writing poetry. that isn’t something men do, the poet learns from his father. but in his heart of hearts, the poet knows his father is wrong. the pen may not always be mightier than the sword, but it can inflict wounds that will not close over the way skin knits itself back together again. he takes up, music, too, playing at his lute in the summer sun.

ironically, it is far away from his father that the poet learns to put himself back together again—well, as much as a poet who writes verses of tragedy can. he drapes and adorns himself in yellow when he doesn’t have to wear the shiny rusting armor. yellow is the color of roses and of the sun. but sunlight can sting your skin if it’s not too careful, and the delicate petals of roses are liars because every rose has its thorns.

that’s when the poet meets an angel.

the angel isn’t an angel per se. he has no wings, no halo shining at his brow. but his words are so soft and open that he might as well be. the angel is his muse and duels with him, and the poet knows nothing else like what thoughts fly through his head when he dares to stare the angel in the eyes. he pens poems about the angel when he thinks not a soul is looking, because love is something that must hurt. and what could hurt more than knowing that the angel you behold only sees you as dull and flighty, not a creature that deserves to reside in heaven with him?

but it is alone that the poet realizes that love can be sweet. love can be found in the mild, sweet bite of an apple passed between work-worn hands. love can be the long walks spent back to the castle after sparring. sometimes he wants to ask his angel, “do you remember the stars? tell me the precise way they shone in heaven’s sky?” but he realizes that his angel is from earth and that love can be tangible and something that heals, not hurts. and maybe that is how it should be.

that’s why his angel holds him close when he shows him his poetry. he didn’t mean to teach the poet anything, he insists, but they are in the here and now and that is enough.

so they heal each other—they both put effort into it. there are seasons beyond summer, seasons that will change and live.

and, the poet thinks, maybe that is what love is all about.

**Author's Note:**

> i've always thought that beyond the 2004 movie (which i personally didn't really like, but to each their own! if it brings you joy that's good!) galahad/tristan would be a sweet pairing.
> 
> also my dad ate the last piece of cake and now im mad. i wanted to have cake tomorrow
> 
> grievances w/ cake aside, thanks for reading! please take care <3


End file.
